Chapter Three. Unbounded, unless you’re holier than nippy, in which case SUPER bounded

Pinky-Von-Sox and the cave of Squawking Mumbles 

Chapter Three 

Let’s take a quick fact interruption. 

Fact: The Cave of Squawking Mumbles was originally a cheap, unhinged, and low down dirty land edge, which at the time of right before it’s formation, you know, like SUPER baffled people. That is people who saw a land edge, and were told it was a cave, which was baffling, because it was called a cave, and yet rather than being a cave, was actually a land edge.

Of course life fucks with you anytime you think you’ve outsmarted a linguist, and the cave as we know it formed anyway, right at the the tail end of the jumonicathic period. Thus making it older than most dirt, younger than most sand, wetter than most Freemason carved windmills, dryer than a sticky bun made of carpel tunnel syndrome explained through the use of foraged foliage puppetry, and more endothamatic than almost ANY ‘delete all’ function, you’ll find on ANY lounge chair, found near ANY assassination themed endothamitic theme pub, especially those found with a well spread, yet exclusive and special, discount code word, of 'thus'. 

So yeah. 

Fact. The fact we’d found the cave was a fact that was a fact that was beautifully poised to discover that it's very destiny was to end up on the podcast ‘facts you should know’ as SOON as said podcast was invented. Unless it already has been invented. In which case shame on you all. 

Also the podcast ‘let’s take a quick fact break’ is MINE. ANYone try to copy it and fact... I’ll sick the endothamic society on you! Um, YEAH. 

Anyway, it’s been a while since I posted tales from this brilliant, and factual, and more importantly this factually brilliant, true, and brilliantly factual story.

Apologies, let’s get back to it... 

Look at you, you talent rich talent

Great News: According to their ads, you ALWAYS see it first on channel 9 news. 

Yep, that means the 99.99% of times you could have sworn you saw it first on the internet, you were merely having a severe psychotic episode, punctuated with vast and brilliantly accurate psychic visions. Congrats! 

Ice – A poem

Big was the ice block

Really big

A big bloody ice block

And icy was the ice on this big ice block

Really icy

Every part of its iciness was made of ice

And pure was the ice that made it icy

Pure in a the purest ice way ice can be

And blocky was the block on this huge block of ice

Big and blocky

Blocky in a way that can only be achieved with blockhead commitment to blocking out any influence that wasn’t blockiness

Altogether this made for a big block of ice

Really big

Big in iciness

Big in blockiness

And big in block of ice type ice blockiness

Oh yeah, Icy and big was the big ass bitching bad motherfucker of a big ass bitchin’ motherfucking ice block

Later on, there was a puddle

The End

The struggle of the dancing whiff of real - A Poem

'Can you give me an example'? Asked Jeff. 

'Sure. I'll just do all the fucking work as usual!' Responded Cal, in what was clearly a far more tense than exciting exchange. And by that I mean epically tense, and only minusculely exciting. And by minusculely exciting I mean, not at ALL exciting, but hey, at least no one got lit on fire.

Then Cal lit Jeff on fire.

‘Well now you're just taking the piss, that's really unnecessary’ responded Jeff

‘Sorry dude, I just hate when narrators take liberty, it’s just not their place, you know?’ Said Cal. 

‘I do Cal, I do’ replied Jeff. And then they hugged, which put the fire mostly out.

The bit of fire NOT put out burned for another twenty years. Within seven years it had became Holman County’s fifth most visited ‘human on fire’ based tourist attraction. Which helped the town, or at least soften the blow, from their ‘dildo factory on fire’ based financial AND ridicule based issues. I mean who’s idea was it to make dildos out of ground up Christmas lights anyway?

The point is, so yeah! Uh huh. That’s right. STILL want to hate on narrators you small county hating dicks?